


Padawan Mine

by PunsBulletsAndPointyThings



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars: Rise of Empire Era - All Media Types
Genre: Because I love the idea of Dooku actually having a soft spot for his padawan, GFY, Gen, Xanatos Angst, unbetad
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-03
Updated: 2015-09-03
Packaged: 2018-04-18 19:28:57
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,491
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4717751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings/pseuds/PunsBulletsAndPointyThings
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even the great master Dooku feels his heart ache at the mournful sight of his padawan.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Padawan Mine

**Author's Note:**

> God I need to go to bed. That being said, I just had to finish this. Unbetad, so I apologize for any massive flaws. Hope you enjoy my first attempt at a Star Wars fic!

Dooku had not even reached the rooms belonging to his old padawan when he felt the first wave of emotions. Even with their training bond long severed, there was no doubt in the jedi master’s mind that the overwhelming sense of anger, and pain, and loss he could feel belonged to Qui-gon jinn. The emotions in the air were practically tangible, growing stronger the closer Dooku got to his destination, and in that moment the silver haired master felt a pang of sorrow for his old charge.  
  
He did not bother to knock, bypassing politeness and imputing the last code he remembered for Qui-gon’s door. It worked, the door sliding opened with only the faintest of hisses. In any other situation, this would have been cause enough for at least the briefest of chastising, master or not, but while Yan Dooku was many things, blind and heartless was not one of them.  
  
The room was dark and silent, emotion hanging, heavy as a blanket of lead in the Force. It took Dooku a few moments as his eyes adjusted to the sudden change of lighting, before he sought out the man he was looking for. Qui-gon stood at the far end on the main room, his back to Dooku, staring out a window. Even from the doorway, Yan could see the way his old padawan’s shoulders where hunched, his whole posture screaming of defeat.  
  
“Master. I did not know you had returned to Coruscant.” The utter lack of life in Qui-gon’s voice was enough to make Dooku falter, ever so slightly, as he crossed the room. As a child, and even as a young man, emotion had always coloured Qui-gon’s voice, to the point where Dooku had always been able to tell exactly how the younger jedi was feeling, even without the Force. Now though, now Qui-gon’s ever so passionate voice was dead; cold and hollow, reminding Yan of dry leaves caught up in a fall wind.  
  
“My mission was completed faster than both I, and the Council had expected.” Dooku replied, stopping a few paces away from the window where Qui-gon stood, arms folded behind his back, voice calm as always, revealing nothing. Just one of the many ways he and his padawan had always differed. “I came to the swift conclusion that the Temple was far more conducive to rest than a forgotten mountain on a back water planet of the Outer Rim ever could be.”  
  
That, and the fact that he, Force be his witness, had been worried. The news of Xanatos’ fall had spread quickly, but it had still been three weeks after the fact that Dooku had first learnt of the events on Telos. Losing a padawan was never easy, and losing a padawan to the Dark side was even worse. Dooku had seen it before; masters who had lost their padawan’s on a mission, or to an illness, and had never truly recovered. Somewhere, in the back of his mind, a tiny part of him hoped that would not be the fate to befall Qui-gon Jinn.’  
  
“I see.” Qui-gon had yet to turn from the window, and as Dooku watched, one greying eyebrow raised, the maverick jedi lifted a bottle made of dark blue glass from the sill, bringing it to his lips and taking a long drink. Now that it had been drawn to his attention, Dooku noticed two other bottles lying on a nearby table; identical in every way except that they were empty.  
  
There was nothing for it, Dooku decided, pushing the empty bottles away from the edge of the table with distain. “I was informed of your padawan’s fate. You have my condolences, Qui-gon.”  
  
There was the slightest shift in the Force, and Dooku watched his former padawan’s hand tighten around the bottle he still held, but the dark haired man gave no response. Dooku pressed on.  
  
“It was not as much of a surprise as I would have expected.” He glanced down at his hands, noting with distaste the dirt still stuck under his fingernails, visible to him even in the darkness of the room. “Xanatos was never the most stable of creatures.”  
  
He could see Qui-gon tensing where he stood, could feel the Force displacing it’s self around him, reacting to the younger man’s emotions. Still, he pushed on. Yoda had comment on that habit of his many times.  
  
_“Always pushing, you are. Know when to stop, you do not.”_  
  
“His fall was inevitable, it was clear to see.”  
  
His next words were cut off by the sound of breaking glass, as the bottle shattered in Qui-gon’s grip. Shards of blue glass fell to the floor unhindered, while other pieces buried themselves into Qui-gon’s tanned and calloused palm. The room fell silent, but for their breathing― Dooku’s calm, Qui-gon’s shaky and growing faster.  
  
Yan paused, opened his mouth, paused again, and then finally spoke. “Qui-gonꟷ”  
  
“Stop.” Finally, Qui-gon turned his face from the window, and had Dooku been anyone else, he would have gasped. His old padawan’s face was gaunt, his skin pale from lack of sleep and proper food. His eyes were hooded and ringed with dark bags, and his hair was a greasy, scraggly messy, his beard unkempt and long. He was shaking, his breath still ragged as he spoke.  
  
“Stop. Please, for the love of the Force, just. Stop.”  
  
As he took in the sight of his former padawan, falling apart before his very eyes, that one spot in Dooku’s heart, the spot that had slowly but surely softened throughout the years of Qui-gon’s apprenticeship, broke.  
  
“Padawan.” Dooku’s voice was soft, and he took a few steps closer to the crumbling jedi before him. Qui-gon made a noise like a choked sob. It hurt, more than Yan would have expected, watching his padawan break like that, so completely, before his very eyes. He was, he realized, just as attached to the younger man as any other master would be, the exact thing he had always avoided, even warned Qui-gon against. Dammit.  
  
Two swift strides, and Dooku was at Qui-gon’s side, reaching out and pulling the taller man (Small Gods, he was a Wookie!) to him. Any last semblance of control Qui-gon might have been clinging to, shattered. His body shook, wracked by his sobs as he clung to his old master like a drowning man. Dooku remained silent, threading is fingers through Qui-gon’s dark hair in soothing motions.  
  
There had only been one other time, where Dooku had allowed such a display. Early into their fourth year together as master and apprentice, Dooku had been awoken one night by wave after wave of unadulterated terror, streaming through the training bond he and Qui-gon shared. In a panic, he had practically fallen from his bed, in his haste to get to the other, smaller bedroom. There, he had found his padawan, screaming and thrashing against some unseen terror. When he had finally been able to wake the boy, Qui-gon had been all but hysterical with fear, and all Dooku could think of to do was hold him, until he finally calmed.  
Later, Qui-gon would tell him that there had been pain, so much _pain_ , and something _evil_ , with red skin and yellow eyes had been laughing and there was screaming and pain. His padawan’s first Force vison was not a pleasant memory for either of them.  
  
Like with that time, all Dooku could do was hold Qui-gon, as the jedi knight sobbed out all his pain, anger, and heart break in his arms; hold him and wait out the storm.  
  
“I tried Master. I tried so hard.”  
  
“I know padawan. I know.” Dooku sighed softly, continuing to card his fingers through Qui-gon’s hair.  
  
Time began to blur after that. Dooku was not sure how long they stood there, Qui-gon clinging to him like a lost child, his arms wrapped tight around the broken man. When Qui-Gon finally spoke again, his voice was horse from sobbing and cracked even as he whispered, “I loved him.”  
  
Dooku closed his eyes at the admission, and in a moment of weakness, pressed his lips to Qui-gon’s hair. He knew. He could hear it in Qui-gon’s voice, could hear that Xanatos had been everything to Qui-gon Jinn. A son, a friend, maybe even a lover, had things gone differently.  
  
Qui-gon shuddered, then still. After a moment, he straightened, pulling away from Dooku. His face was red, and his eyes were bloodshot, but there was something else; some off. As if a sheet of marble had fallen across his features, cold, hard, unforgiving. It was in that moment that Dooku knew, knew that his joyful, question filled padawan was truly gone.  
  
“Never again. I cannot. I am not suited to training another padawan, Master.”  
  
It took a long moment for Dooku to answer that, as his familiar expression and posture returned.  
  
“I have always warned you, padawan mine, of the dangers of attachment.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [A Master Learns](https://archiveofourown.org/works/6716425) by [bluedragoninamber](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluedragoninamber/pseuds/bluedragoninamber)




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